One Piece: In Hell
by laydee-jiraya
Summary: What happens when Luffy becomes the cook, Zoro the navigator, and Nami the swordsman? And who is this Allpunk Interpol guy anyway? Is his devil's fruit power behind this chaos? And will the crew ever get back to normal? Read on to find out!
1. Chapter 1

One Piece: In Hell!

by Laydee Jiraya

* * *

_There's an old joke which goes something like this: in heaven, the French are the chefs, the Italians are the lovers, the British are the police, the Germans are the mechanics, and the Swiss make everything run on time. In hell, the British are the chefs, the Swiss are the lovers, the French are the mechanics, the Italians make everything run on time, and the Germans are the police._

_ If the world of _One Piece_ were hell, Zoro would be the navigator. . . ._

* * *

Chapter 1: The Mirror Mirror Fruit!

Identities Swapped!

"ZORO-SWAAAN!" A curly eyebrow twirled in delight, while the mouth a little further down inhaled a half-gone cigarette with deep breaths. Agile hands grasped a coffee cup and a plate, while the figure bearing them sauntered over, eyes transformed to hearts. This behavior was all very typical for Sanji, aside from who it was directed toward—and aside from the fact that this wasn't Sanji. It was Luffy.

Anyone would have assumed, naturally, that Luffy was making fun of Sanji, using his rubbery face to pull off an uncanny impersonation. Anyone who saw the way Zoro and the rest of the crew were acting would soon realize there was something else going on entirely.

"Not now, Luffy! This is terrible!" Zoro looked on the verge of faint, complete terror filling his presence. That was when Sanji burst through the door. Luffy had been cooking since dawn (although most of it was already eaten), the result being a kitchen laid to ruins and a smoldering stove, ten broken plates, and an almost-empty fridge. Normally, Sanji would have killed him. But this Sanji was different. This Sanji had an aura of cool, and an open shirt. And this Sanji was wearing nothing below the waist but a pair of tight black briefs.

His arms shot in the air, in a pose which was copyright to Franky.

"This week's me is feeling really SUPAH!" He grinned widely, and his arms fell as he strode over to the table, and plunked himself down. The way he walked, with his legs and arms spread wide, gave the idea that he thought he was a lot bigger than he actually was. "Oi, cook-bro! Gimme a cola, would ya?"

"Teme! Don't interrupt Zoro-swan!" Luffy almost caught fire in his outrage, but couldn't quite pull it off. He turned to Zoro. "Zoro-swan, my love! What ever can be the matter?"

"We've drifted off course!" A crumpled map got plunked down in the table. "I've managed to narrow down our location, but why . . . why don't I . . ." Luffy and Sanji leaned in to look at the map. It was a map of the universe, with the Milky Way vaguely circled. "WHY DON'T I KNOW HOW TO NAVIGATE?" Zoro's cry echoed out the door, across the ocean, and finally up into outer space—thoroughly blanketing all the areas he thought they might be in.

It all started last night, but they didn't know it, mostly because they couldn't put their finger on what, if anything, was wrong.

That night, everyone had been themselves, doing the things they would typically do: Robin was reading, Brooke was playing music, and Franky and Usopp were tinkering with the cannons, for example. And Sanji—Sanji was cooking, although little did he know that this particular dish would be the one thing no one but Luffy would eat. It was gorgeous, balmy weather, with a cool humid breeze and lots of sunlight and clouds, so they decided to have a picnic on the lawn of the Thousand Sunny, and waited for what Sanji had promised would be an unusual delicacy, an acquired taste well worth acquiring. Luffy got forced into helping Sanji bring the plates out.

And then, everyone looked at their dinner in horror and dismay. Chopper poked it with his hoof, mostly to feel for a pulse and determine whether or not it was still alive.

"What the hell is this, shit-cook?" Zoro bitched, and shoved the plate back at him. "Take it back and cook it!"

"It's steak tartare! It's meant to be served raw!" he fumed, fists clenching at his sides.

"And what's with this egg? A raw egg?" Nami frowned at it, not even willing to touch the thing. "Really Sanji, I can't eat this." Sanji's lower lip trembled, while tears threatened to flow.

"N-Nami-swan?"

"It can't be that bad," Franky noted. "Let's just try it." He took a bite. Nobody else joined him. A few chews, and a swallow. His face conveyed no particular emotion—and then, he went and hung his head over the rails, puking his guts out.

"Ah! He's got food poisoning!" Chopper cried out. "Doctor! We need a doctor! . . . Oh right, that's me."

"Take it back and cook it, shit-cook!" Zoro screamed. "That's your job! Do your fucking job!"

"Teme! I'd like to see you do better!"

"I've already done better! My food's never made anyone puke!"

"Actually," Nami began, and raised her hand.

"What, you think cooking is so easy?" Their foreheads were now pressed together as they screamed pointlessly in each other's faces. Luffy was using the distraction to nab everyone's unwanted steak tartare. Sanji broke their temples apart, mostly so he could lean back the proper distance to deliver a good kick. It didn't matter, because Zoro dodged it anyways, and pulled out his katanas. "Do you—" his verbal flow got interrupted as he moved out of the way of a blade. "Do you have any idea how much I do for this crew? How many dishes I wash? How many hours I stand around over a hot stove, baka-marimo?"

Zoro just smirked, and stopped trying to get at him. "So what, you think you do more than anyone else, or something?"

"I sure as hell do more than you!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" The shoes and blades were out again, thin metal edges impacting on tough rubbery soles. Everyone who wasn't puking over the railing just sat around watching in silent awe, like they were at a tennis match, heads turning back and forth to look at whoever was currently yelling.

"What it means—" kick—"is that all you do is fucking sleep!"

"I help you dry dishes!" Swing.

"Oh, what a vital chore! Baka-marimo dries dishes every once in a while! What would we possibly do without him?"

"Cook-san is sarcastic," Robin commented, and looked amused.

"Hmm." Luffy frowned. "Sanji! Zoro does a lot more than you!"

_"NANI?"_ Sanji just stopped, his foot still hanging in the air as he glared over, and his pupils were very tiny. A nice big vein had started to throb in the visible half of his temple. For some odd reason, Zoro also froze, waiting patiently for the cook's attention to return, as if he didn't really want to hurt him—as if this wasn't really a fight, but a dance, something which required the cooperation of partners.

The captain's face cracked into a massive crescent moon of a grin.

"When he fights, he uses three swords! And you use only two legs! Shishishi!"

"ARRRRAAAHHHHH!" And with that, the cook was engulfed in flames. _"Luffy,"_ he gasped, his voice turned to a raspy whisper in his barely-restrained fury. The man before Luffy towered over him in a column of fire and smoke. His pupils contracted even further, then disappeared—leaving nothing but white in their place, and the idea that, with the flames and whatnot, Luffy was looking at some demon from hell. _"We're not talking about fighting. We're talking about work."_

"Hmm? I thought fighting was work." He tilted his head to the side, looking completely oblivious to the fact that Sanji was on fire, and possibly about to murder him. Robin noticed this, and decided to speak up.

"Sencho-san, I hate to tell you this, but cook-san is right. You, cook-san, and swordsman-san all fight very hard, but—"

Nami nodded, seeing where this was going, and finished it for her. "But when nothing's going on, Zoro sleeps, you goof off, and Sanji is _still _working." Suddenly the flames died out.

"Nami-swan! Robin-chwan! Of course you understand!" He clamped his hands firmly to his heart, one on top of the other, while his eyes became heart-shaped and he seemed to nearly float over the deck.

"I think cook-san is bipolar," Robin noted, and Sanji confirmed this by falling to the deck in a deep depression.

Luffy thought about this. "Hmm. . . . But food tastes good. So it can't be that hard to make, right?" His logic was beyond all of them.

"Luffy," Sanji gasped, looking up. "I wish for one day—just one day—" He stood, and lit a cigarette. Storm clouds were gathering, blotting out the setting sun like ink spilled on a wet watercolor painting. "That you could walk around in my shoes."

A figure nobody had noticed perched atop the crow's nest listened to those words, and chuckled mildly to itself. A wide scarf blew behind his back in such a way as to convey the idea of wings, while the intruder's face hid in the shade of a pinstriped fedora's brim—aside from a mild curve of smirk. He replayed those words in his mind. That was a prescription he could fill.

"Yosh! Here are my sandals! Gimme your shoes!"

"Baka! It was a figure of speech!" The people on deck moved around as tiny points of existence, like ants in a colony. From this distance, and this state of unfamiliarity with them, the figure wondered what their identities were fully like—and if any of them would be able to resist his Mirror Mirror fruit.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Some characters may have been slightly OOC at times. This is bound to shamelessly continue. Forgive me._

_~LJ_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: No Mind-to-Mouth Censor!

Luffy Tells Sanji's Secrets!

The Kagami Kagami no Mi, or Mirror Mirror fruit, is a paramecia type devil's fruit which gives the user the power to strip a person of their identity—the way they see themselves, hence the name—their purpose, aura, and personality, as well as their internal dialogue. This could be used to cripple an opponent, making them, in their confusion and apathy, incapable of fighting. An opponent who no longer knows what they hate and what their motivations are won't have any reason or willpower to fight you.

This was how it was intended to be used—but Allpunk Interpol was a man with a wicked sense of humor. As soon as he found out he could not only take personalities _out,_but put them back in the wrong people—as soon as he'd found that out, he'd giggled with delight, and vowed to use it for his own enjoyment every opportunity he got.

And these were the Straw Hat pirates. This was an opportunity he could _not_pass up.

The pallid face glancing through one of the round windows frowned, his thin, faint brows furrowed in deep thought. He was considering who to swap. An arc of crescent moon came out to replace Luffy's smile as the captain sprawled in his bunk, emitting loud snores and a random word here and there—which, oddly enough, the rest of the sleeping crew responded to, with random words of their own. This kept the intruder wary to enter, so he stayed outside the door a little longer, peeking in through the open crack.

"Gnaaaahh Woro. An—an island," the captain told them, then let a heavy sigh out. "Woro" evidently meant Zoro in sleep-talk, because Zoro was the one who responded.

"No! The cheeseburgers! I must . . . defeat them!" He pulled a pillow into his arms and curled into a fetal position.

"Yosh . . . here we come . . . burger island." More snores.

"Sanji! Burgers . . ." Usopp added.

"Casse toi!" In French, in sleep, that meant "fuck off." The bastards were even ordering food in their sleep! Interpol smirked, and pulled the door open a little wider, entering on tip-toes, the black shadows of his legs wiping up the spill of milky moonlight on the floor. That poor cook. He'd start with him.

The man lay in his slumber, curled neatly on his side, blond bangs curtaining the windows to his soul. A hand turned his head so the intruder could get a good look at his face. Mild eyes glanced at him, before two fingers opened his mouth and slipped between neat rows of pearly teeth. "Kagami-gami R.I.P.," he whispered, and the fingers came out again, what looked like a piece of gauzy fabric gripped between fore-fingernail and the pad of his middle one. It stretched and lengthened upward as he pulled it out, looking like thick smoke, a bluish ether. Soon it was expanding, filling the space of air above Sanji's body—a second man, in spirit form, floating over the other. It wasn't his soul, not exactly—it was his identity—his personality, all the mannerisms and habits which made him uniquely Sanji, and all the things he consciously thought.

In a single glance this intruder could see all the ways Sanji appeared to others—a Cliffs Notes on his character, with the addition of some secrets he kept locked in his head. All the swooning over women, smoking two packs a day, his neat manner of dress, his easily-roused anger—everything was laid out before the eyes of a stranger, flashing spastically across that form standing in the air before the single cord connecting persona and person was clawed at by a long, sharp fingernail, narrowed to a point at the end. A ripping sound, and the persona dissipated, flowing into Interpol's hand.

He knew exactly who this one was going in.

Fifteen minutes later, he had taken out four personas, and put two back in—the cook was now the shipwright, the captain was now the cook, and the swordsman and shipwright were mindless zombies. He smiled, and hummed gently to himself as he spun about on tiptoes, a single finger pointing out to land on—he stopped, and opened his eyes.

He was pointing at a man with a very long nose. The invader hadn't seen much of this man, and was wondering what he would be like. Once the persona came out and was examined, it went immediately back into Usopp—he may have a mean sense of humor, but nobody deserved having _that_persona thrust on them. It would be too cruel.

Besides, he usually liked to leave one single soul to witness events unfold, and chuckle as that person wondered who was crazy—them, or everyone else. Still, he hoped there wasn't anyone else with a personality like that, because this trick worked best on as large a number of people as possible—once effected, a person can't tell if anyone else is. The fruit works in such as way so as to make the victim believe that any other victims have always been like that—and treat them according to the persona they hold. This leads to typical bickering—weird romances—distraction—and provides a routine for them to slip into, giving the delusion more weight and credibility, hardening it like concrete.

Now, if there was more than one left sane—that would be bad, because they could commiserate, be more persuasive. But he doubted that long-nose guy on his own would be able to persuade _anyone_that they were the ones who were wrong—probably not at any time, and certainly not now, not with that kind of pessimism. The invader shuddered in recollection of that persona's depressive texture—it felt like wet cotton balls.

And then his eyes lighted on Chopper. "Kawaii!" he squealed, a bit too loudly, because the cook-now-shipwright stirred and muttered something about explosions.

Allpunk Interpol was the captain of a pirate crew consisting of five-hundred members. He had a bounty of 90,000 beri, and was close to becoming the twelfth supernova. He was feared throughout North Blue, where he had come from, and had successfully managed to defeat the marines in sixteen different confrontations—but perhaps the most embarrassing part about this, for the marines, was that they were beaten by a crew who consisted almost entirely of teddy bears animated with stolen personas.

Chopper was a lot like a teddy bear. He would make a nice addition to the crew. Well, his persona would.

The remaining male crew members identities were ripped out, aside from Brooke's. From his distance, and inattention, Interpol had failed to notice Brooke when he was awake and walking about, so his first impression of him was—

"WAAHHH!" He screamed, and fell to the floor, eyes very wide, heart racing. He sat there for a moment, completely petrified, hands clamped to his mouth. But nobody stirred. He stood up, and looked at him again. A skeleton. My god. They didn't even have the decency to give him a proper burial? These people were worse than the rumors. The ladies' personas were ripped out. Final swaps were made—and then he took off, with a promise to himself to come back the next day—and Chopper's persona.

Nami yawned, stretched, and opened her eyes blearily. She frowned deeply, yawned deeply, and grumbled as she walked out her bedroom door and onto the deck. Then she lay down on the deck, and went back to sleep again. It was noon before someone dared disturb her, but she didn't know that.

"Oi! Lunch!"

She groaned, and squinted up at the sun in pure hate, as it took its high-and-mighty place in the middle of the sky. How dare it be so bright so early? "Why are you serving lunch for breakfast, shit-cook? Get a watch." Luffy leaned over her, and frowned.

"It's noon, baka-tomato. That's when you serve lunch."

"Whaa? Morning already?"

"I said it's noon!"

Nami grumbled, and stood very slowly, rubbing her head. "Alright. What's for lunch?

"I baked a turkey. . . . But I ate it."

"Then what're you waking me up for?"

"Because watching you sleep pisses me off!"

"Then don't watch me, ero-cook!"

"Teme! You piss me off! I wanna shove this spatula in your butt! Huh, I'm getting those weird thoughts about you again. They're almost as bad as when I wanna put on a dress and twirl around. Man I'm glad no one knows what goes on in my head! That would be seriously embarrassing! But they don't know! Wahahahaha!" Luffy's inability to censor himself had won over, evidently being more physiological or deeply-wired or whatever than Interpol had guessed.

"What the hell?" Nami's eyes went white. And then Luffy tromped off, still brandishing that threatened spatula.

"I'm gonna go kick everyone out of the galley and masturbate!" That's when the real—well, bodily real Sanji passed by, and gave Luffy a big thumbs up.

"Ganbatte!" he called after.

"Hen . . . hentai," Nami gasped. And then she forgot about it, and took a nap, as it had been a long day (ten minutes). But that nap was short-lived. Within five minutes a dark figure was looming over her, and it made its presence known by dumping a bucket of ice water on her entire person—it was seriously so cold that it might as well have been liquid nitrogen. Even the real Zoro would've woken up from that.

"GAH!"

"Nami!" Oh shit. It was the navigator. "Go make yourself useful, and tie down anything loose on deck! I think there's gonna be a storm!" He looked worried and examined the notes he had taken on all the things which lead him to believe there would be a storm:

_1. The cloud I have been following is getting bigger as we get closer to it. _

_2. The sky is getting darker as it gets toward sunset. _

_3. I am craving soup, which is rainy weather food. _

He glared with suspicion at the puddle near his feet. Then he looked at the empty bucket next to it. He glanced at the puddle again, and wrote a final note at the bottom.

_4. The deck is wet—perhaps with RAIN?_

She glanced at him, face all scrunched up in irritation and a strong desire to not be awake. ". . . What're you doing with my swords?"

Zoro looked down at his hip, and smiled. "Well I don't remember how they got there, but you still owe me a hundred thousand beri—"

"_Nani?_ How can it be that much? I only borrowed a thousand!"

"Interest. You keep not paying, it goes higher! So anyways. They're mine now!" And he finished this off by very civilly sticking out his tongue and pulling on his lower eyelid before diving away from her grabbing arms.

"Give them to me," Nami gasped. "Or I'll cut you." Her killing intent was off the charts.

"With what?" he teased. "I got your swords!"

_"Fine!_ I'll pay you! Evil wench!" Nami grumbled, and produced her wallet, giving Zoro a hundred thousand beri. Neither of them questioned why someone who had that much money needed to borrow in the first place, but the swords were given to Nami, who fastened the sword belt around her hip. When they woke up the next day, those swords would go back to Zoro—but neither of them would remember this transaction—and that hundred thousand beri would go towards sake. A lot of sake. "And gimme my bandana! What the hell're you doing with all my stuff?"

"Fine, I'll give it to you—_for ten beri."_

"You bitch!" Nami had no idea why she was calling Zoro a bitch, seeing as he was a guy—but the bandana got untied, and held aloft over her head, just out of reach. Nami jumped, trying to get to the damn thing—but every time she got close he just yanked it higher. She could have sworn she was taller than that witch of a navigator.

"Cough it up!"

"Give me my bandana!"

"Cough it up!"

"Fine, here!" The ten beri were produced, and Zoro beamed with a greedy, gloating smile. Nami just scowled, and tied the bandana around her head. "You pissed me off. I'm gonna go train." She walked off, limping from the weight of the swords as their tips scraped against the deck, making three neat lines in the wood. Right, well, training. Nami's mind filled with a sense of calm as her hands got padded in a fine powder of yellow chalk, then slipped over the metal pole of the two-ton iron weight. She breathed in a gentle breath, and lifted up.

Nothing happened.

_Hmm. Someone glued my weight to the deck,_Nami decided. _Well, I guess there's nothing else to do. I'll cut it out._A sword blade got thrust into the deck boards, going most of the way to the hilt. She'd had the idea to do a single, circular swipe to detach the part of the deck the weight was glued to from the rest of the deck, but all that had lead to was her almost cutting off her own leg, and then, this. "Come out!" she roared, pulling up with all her might.

Being under the impression that he was French, Luffy took this as his cue to come out on the deck and insult her. "Baka tomato, what the hell're you doing, you shit-swordsman?" He looked on blankly as Nami tried to pull her sword out, wondering what was so important about this that he'd been summoned away from his masturbating—er, cooking. A match was struck, black smoke descending into pink, all-but virginal lungs. Slowly the situation cleared for him—of all the weirdest things to happen, Nami couldn't get her sword out of the deck. Had that ever happened? What was wrong with her? Was she hurt? Was something else going on?

"So what, you called me out here for help?" Luffy griped.

"Fuck you! I wasn't calling you at all! Go away!"

"No! I'll go where I please!"

"Well you don't please me. Get gone, shit-cook."

"Ta mére en short devant le Prisunic!" It was the only time Luffy would ever be heard correctly saying anything in French, but it wasn't quite what the cook would have said, mostly due to his brain refusing to participate in being smart. This actually meant, "Your mother in shorts in front of K-Mart," but Nami didn't know that, so she just assumed:

"Yeah, fuck you too."

"So wait . . . does that mean you . . . want to fuck? Oh what should I say? Should I make a suggestive comment?" Luffy thought aloud, turning a horrible shade of red. The cigarette almost fell from his mouth.

"Whaa?" That creepy grin around the cigarette butt confirmed to Nami that this was more of that perverted T.M.I.-talk. She wasn't sure, but she couldn't remember the cook being such a weirdo.

"Nami . . . I'm finding it so hard to hold myself back! Am I gay? Does this mean I'm gay or something? Oh crap. I'd better think of something to say, instead of just standing here thinking!"

"You've been saying a lot already. It's the thinking part that's missing," Nami managed, despite being mostly paralyzed. Oddly, the cook's flustered, flushed face was looking attractive to her—including the curly eyebrow, although never in a million years would the real Nami think this—about Sanji, or about Luffy impersonating him. No, it wasn't quite that face. It was the demeanor. There was something about him, something so elegant and sensual—something that demanded the swordsman fuck his brains ou—_Oh my god._ It took a lot for Zoro, or even someone who thought they were Zoro, to start talking to god. _I did not just think that._

"I think I feel sick," Nami concluded.

"Sick?"

Nami looked at the wooden boards under her feet. "It's just . . . I feel weaker. I can't get this sword out. I know you're gonna laugh about this. I don't give a fuck. But. Would you help me pull it out?"

Luffy's cigarette finally made a suicidal plunge from his lips, and fizzled out on the deck below. _"Help_ you pull it out. So . . . our bodies . . . might be touching. Better play this cool. Better act nonchalant." There's no way you can pull off nonchalant after announcing it. Trembling fingers lighted atop her hands, palms slightly sticky with humidity, nerves, and the efforts of baking. His chest pressed against her back, his crotch to her butt.

"Ah!" Luffy fell on the deck, eyes turned to hearts, blood spurting from his nose.

"You're useless," Nami sighed. Whatever. If she couldn't pull it out, maybe nobody could. And she was feeling faint. So she decided that, as much as she hated needles, bandages, and being told to do stuff, she would go to the infirmary.

. . . Maybe. In a bit. . . .


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Power Failure!

Usopp is Captain!

"Ugh, I feel so ugly and fat today," Zoro said dejectedly, glancing in the wardrobe mirror.

"No, nabigeda-san, you look wonderful! I, on the other hand," Franky started, but couldn't quite finish it off. He frowned.

"I think," they said at once, and stopped.

"Oh no, go ahead," Zoro said politely.

"No, I insist, you started to speak slightly before," said Franky.

"I think it's the clothes." Zoro frowned. "What the hell are we doing dressed like this? Where did I even find this shirt? It smells like onions and cheese. I don't recall eating onions and cheese."

"Ah so des ka, that's it," Franky realized. ". . . Oh, I've thought of something fun! We could dress ourselves up."

"But there's no special occasion, really." Zoro frowned. "And I'm so worried about the direction we're headed. It feels like I'm not thinking clearly today."

"It's fine," Franky insisted. "You're a brilliant navigator! I'm sure it will work out. Let's paint each other's nails to cheer up." First, Zoro and Franky tried on several outfits in the women's closets, a few of which burst outright after being forced to contain such massive body parts. Zoro settled on an airy sundress with a delicate floral print, while Franky went for a tight black dress which made him look like a tart.

"Let's go out on deck. We can read magazines while we wait for our nails to dry," Zoro insisted with a smile, and picked up a makeup box in his coarse fingers. "Would you get the magazines, Franky?"

"Of course, nabigeda-san." Franky gave him an amiable smirk. "And I'll tell Luffy to make us some light salads for lunch," he added, with a dark look.

Usopp was just waking up from a very, very long sleep. He didn't normally sleep this late—nobody but Brooke and Zoro were ever asleep at noon. But, ah well, it didn't matter. A shirt, goggles, pants, boots, yosh! Time for breakfast! After he went pee. The door to the men's quarters swung open and a long-nosed man with dark skin wandered out, yawning dramatically. He glanced at Zoro and Franky in dresses down on the lawn, opened the bathroom door, and went inside.

He came back out a minute later with a quizzical expression, and raised a single finger, making to speak. His mouth just hung open. He couldn't find the words. Franky was currently painting Zoro's nails a lovely shade of blue, while the two chatted about clothes, attractive men, and astrology. The painting was finished, so Franky opened a magazine, while Zoro blew gently on his nails. Usopp decided he didn't want to know. He just didn't want to know.

He wasn't certain he wanted breakfast anymore.

Usopp went to the galley anyway, sniffing the air as the door opened, expecting the usual scents of hot coffee, warm pancakes, sausage, and sticky syrup. Instead an acrid smell of burning met his nostrils. "Ugh, Sanji, what're you mak—" His words stopped short. There was a person in the kitchen, wearing Sanji's apron, smoking Sanji's cigarettes, and curling his eyebrow to match Sanji's—but it wasn't Sanji. The would-be chef frowned, and poked at an egg, which refused to cook.

"Oh shit, I forgot to turn the burner on," Luffy complained, and facepalmed into the flaming end of his cigarette. "ITAI!" he shouted, waving his hand about, blowing on it. Would that . . . normally feel so hot? Wasn't he used to flames by now? It didn't matter, because his eye settled on the sniper, the other one obscured behind brushed-down dark bangs. "What do _you_ want?"

Usopp could only point and laugh. "Mahahaha! Luffy! That's even better than last time!" He meant the assumed impersonation, not the failure—but Luffy couldn't help but act like Sanji—so he couldn't help but act butt-hurt.

"Teme!" he roared. "Don't laugh at me, or I won't cook for you for a month!"

"Maha—MAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh my god! Luffy! That's dead-on!"

"Diable Jambe!" he screeched, and took on an intense fighting pose. Nothing happened. "Diable Jambe! . . . The hell? Well, maybe it just . . . needs some encouragement," he said darkly, and struck a match. The fire curled dramatically around the leg of his trousers, lapping up his thigh. "Diable Jambe! Anti-Manner Kick Course!" He aimed a kick at Usopp's head—but mid-swing the shoe just flipped into the air, being too large for his foot. It came crashing down on his own head, but to no effect—Luffy stood there, looking totally serious—and very, very pissed. And then:

"ITAI! HOT! HOT! HOT!" Usopp knew he should do something about this.

He went back outside.

Well, that was three who had lost their minds. He sighed, while the sounds of sizzling and running water emitted from the kitchen, along with a gasp of relief. Usopp was always prepared for situations like this, because he was always prepared for the worst. He was always prepared for the worst because that was always what he expected. "Hmm. I wonder where the real Sanji is?" he thought aloud—and that was when he caught sight of Sanji over at one of the cannons, dressed like Franky. Despite Franky himself never having smoked in his life, this week's Franky—well, Sanji—was having serious nicotine cravings, and had bummed one off Luffy—and as he inhaled the smoke, as the tip glowed with embers, he proceeded to pour gun powder. The wind blew deviously, and a few stray glowing bits wafted mildly over into the stream of black sand.

An explosion, and Sanji went flying over the side of the boat. The tally was four now.

"TEME!" The galley door burst open, and Luffy came tromping out—with a wet, burned pant leg, and an ugly expression. The shoe was in his hand. He grabbed Usopp by the front of his shirt. "I can't cook! I can't kick! And you're pissing me off! If I can't shove this shoe in your face with my foot, I'll shove it in your face with my hand!" he screamed, and proceeded to beat Usopp with a shoe. It was very Khrushchev.

"Let me go!" Usopp shrieked. "Sanji fell in the water!"

"So?" The shoe froze. "He can swim."

"Yeah, but he got gun powder exploded in his face! He might be hurt! And he still hasn't come back up!"

Luffy adjusted his poorly looped tie and took a drag of his cigarette, looking epic and purposeful. "I'll go get him."

"No, you're a hammer!"

"What?"

"Uh . . . just, let me do it," Usopp insisted steadily. Luffy just stared. There was one thing he could say which would convince him, but he really _didn't_ wanna say it. He swallowed his pride, his heart bobbing in his throat, trying to keep him from getting the words out. "I am useless. I am a horribly pointless person who never does anything. I am a burden on this entire crew. Please let me be the hero for once." The words came out stiff and flat, and as soon as he was done, he winced at what he'd just said.

Luffy just nodded, and took another puff. "Ii daro."

The water was ice cold as it thrashed about his limbs—too cold and rough to be swum in by a casual swimmer like Usopp, but he was the only other person standing there when Sanji went down, and he felt like he had to take responsibility for this. It was a good thing he was standing there when it happened, and not just Luffy—the captain was out of his mind, not even knowing who he was anymore, and he would've just dived right in.

He stuck his head underwater and spotted Sanji. He was about twenty feet down, his body falling rapidly further. His eyes were blank, and it was obvious the explosion had knocked him out. By the time Sanji had been collected and Usopp had resurfaced, the boat was a lot further away—but now Sanji had awoken.

"Whoa, Usopp-bro! What's going on?"

"You fell overboard. Can you swim?"

"Yeah, but I got an even better, really SUPAH way to get us back to the boat!" He smirked, and nudged Franky's sunglasses firmly over his eyes with a thumb. "Coup de Boo!" Bubbles slowly formed in the water around them. "Huh. Well that was fail."

"What the . . . ? Stop farting at me!" Usopp shrieked, and let go of him as quickly as possible.

"What's up with my powers? I must be outta cola. Ah! Yeah, my hair is limp!"

"Of course it is," Usopp said, and pointed at it. "It's wet." By the time they got back to the boat, Luffy was doing a sickening noodle-dance all over Franky and Zoro with hearts in his eyes, offering them burnt cookies and weak tea. Nami was taking a saw to the deck around Zoro's weight, perspiration running down her face and making her red hair stick to her pale skin. That was another one down—so the looney count was now a total of five. And Robin was gonna be number six.

"Usopp!" she shouted. It was about a one-second warning before her body plummeted through the sky, a dark, inky silhouette like a raven struck from the clouds by a bullet. She crashed atop him, flattening him against the deck—and then, inexplicably, she sat up in a crouched position on her toes, and _laughed. _But this wasn't Robin's laugh.

"Shishishishi! I fell on you," she informed him, in case he hadn't been aware of it. A straw hat got pulled from behind her back, and it plunked on her head, throwing everything on her face in shadow but for that _smile. _He had to admit, she looked a hell of a lot like a female version of Luffy—even the voice got easily pulled off.

"What the hell was that?" was all Usopp could manage. "What happened?"

"That's kind of a long story," Robin explained. "I fell."

". . . That's not a long story!"

"Well," Robin began, deciding to give him the extended version of events, "I fell from above."

"Where else would you fall from? What were you doing?"

"I wanted to jump from the crow's nest to the mast, but it didn't work." She frowned too deeply to be real, and looked at her hands. "Usopp. Why aren't I stretchy?"

"You've . . . you've never been stretchy, Robin," he began, but got cut off as Robin jumped down to the lawn, grabbing burnt cookies before Luffy could stop her.

"SNAAAACK! Snack-snack!" she cheered, and ran away as fast as she could go.

"TEME! Those are for the ladies!" Luffy shrieked, but just let her go—the "ladies" were insisting they really didn't want any, with depressive expressions. Usopp sighed heavily. All the people strong enough to be captain were totally out of it. That left only one option. He stood, striking what he thought was an epic pose, one finger pointed in the air.

"You guys!" he shouted, but nobody looked up or paid any attention to him. Usopp was used to this, so he just continued. "You're all crazy! In that case, the great Captain Usopp . . . shall be captain!"

"Yeah, whatever," Nami complained, limping past with her heavy katanas. Sanji had managed to shoo her away from the deck, so she'd stop ruining "his" handiwork. Usopp ignored it, and wandered off to his factory, where he began to come up with plans and devices to use against any enemies they encountered while everyone was in this state. He picked up the first one he'd finished, and began to practice using it. It was a white flag. He waved it around spastically, with a look of docile panic on his face.

"WE SURRENDER!" he cried, and fell backwards onto the floor, pretending to be dead.

_

* * *

Author's Note: _

"_Ah so des ka" would actually be spelled "Ah so desu ka," but that's not how it's said, so I spelled it as pronounced. It means something like, "Ah, so it is."_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Interpol the Mummy!

Smoker Appears!

"In order to make a diagnosis, I will need to see your panties," Brook informed her. The skeleton sat in Chopper's short rolly chair, a chair he was clearly too big for, with a stethoscope 'round his neck. To the casual observer, it would appear that Brooke had also been subjected to the Kagami Kagami no Mi's powers—but that was not the case. Nami went a miraculous shade of persimmon.

"WHAT?"

Upon waking, Brook had stretched his skeletal arms, rolled out of bunk, and put on a puffy shirt which spoke of an ancient and tacky age of pirating—the kind of shirt which went with an eye-patch and a hook hand. Everyone was moving about, and as he observed them with a blank expression (the default one for a skeleton), he began to notice that they were acting differently.

Sanji was pretending to be the shipwright, who in turn was acting very reserved yet a bit surprised to be in the men's quarters—he supposed he was pretending to be Robin. Luffy's Sanji impersonation was unmatched. Zoro was also upset about being in the men's quarters, insisting that something weird was going on. Luffy was hitting on him and Franky, like Sanji would Nami and Robin, who they in turn were supposed to be. Usopp and Chopper were still asleep.

_They must be playing some sort of game,_ he thought—and wanting to be part of the crowd, he promptly went along with it.

Chopper, Usopp, Luffy, and Zoro were the roles not taken. Zoro and Usopp would be boring. Luffy would be too exhausting. _Well, _he decided. _I think I might like to play doctor! Yohoho!_

Back in the present, Nami was staring at him with a murderous glare mixed with disbelief. She couldn't recall clearly who the doctor was supposed to be—and he _was _sitting in the infirmary with a stethoscope round his neck—but she got the distinct impression that something was amiss here. She decided to test him.

"Brooke," she asked cautiously. "How are you supposed to treat a broken leg?"

"Broken leg?" he wondered. Had they researched for their parts? This wasn't fair! She was trying to make him get out of character. He decided to just give it his best guess. If he had a broken leg, he would . . . "Drink a glass of milk, and then walk on it! Yohoho!"

The trouble was, Nami (as Zoro) wasn't entirely sure what to do about a broken leg anyways. To her, the correct answer was pretty much what he'd just said, minus the milk part. "Ah. I hadn't thought of milk. You're a pretty good doctor," she concluded. "I'll keep that in mind next time my legs are broken."

"So you'll show me your panties then?" But that question was never answered, because it was cut off by the sound of screaming—not screams of terror, but the sound of a guitar wailing out a bad note through an amplifier turned all the way up, and the screams which came with that as everyone stuffed their fingers in their ears.

Sanji wasn't sure why, but he got the distinct impression that there was usually more music playing than the current amount, which was none at all—so he took it upon himself to serenade the crew, being of the idea that he knew how to play the guitar. Loud strums of discord curled into the air, each one stabbing the people who heard it in the head, making its own cacophony rebound out their mouths.

"YAMETE!" Luffy roared, and kicked the amplifier over, but didn't break it. Sanji pounced on him, punching his face in.

"DON'T KICK MY EQUIPMENT, YOU PUNK!" That was Allpunk Interpol's cue to leap down from his position at the top of the crow's nest, where, as before, everyone had failed to notice him. Punk. He smiled to himself. He was certainly that. Nami and Brooke burst out the infirmary door right next to him, making his face pale even further than normal, and he ducked into Nami's mandarin trees, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat.

"Quit hurting the ladies' ears! If they go deaf and can't hear me call their names, I'll kill you!"

"We're fine, really," the real Franky insisted.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't figure out how to play it . . . but . . . no, I'll have it in a second," he promised, and got up from his position pinning Luffy down. He unplugged the amplifier and sat down on the deck, strumming vaguely while testing out how to move his fingers. He pulled a cord chart out of the pocket of the guitar's black case, and got to experimenting.

One thing could be said for the real Sanji—he was skilled with his fingers, and he had an excellent memory, hence how he recalled every ingredient which went in almost every recipe on earth. Within twenty minutes he'd figured out how to play it, and he plugged the amplifier back in. Nobody was outside anymore except for Zoro, who was looking sullenly at the cloud he'd been following, which looked like a bull at first, but which had morphed into an orange in front of his eyes. He was sure it was now a different cloud, and thus not certain he should be following it anymore.

"You look worried, sista. Wanna help me put on a concert?"

Zoro looked up from his position of slumped over the rails. "Ah!" Within five minutes they'd obtained a boombox, a playlist, and the real Franky's blatant refusal to participate, on the grounds that this was embarrassing as a human being. So they got Robin instead, who was too out of it as Luffy to let anything embarrass her.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!" Zoro screamed, and he sounded urgent, so everyone ran outside and gathered—but there was a smile on his face, as he pressed buttons on the boombox. The sounds of Boston's "More Than a Feeling" leaked out, augmented by Sanji serenading them with the guitar and his surprisingly good voice. The sweetest riff, and he noticed that Zoro and Robin were just standing there.

"Oi! You're supposed to be the floozies! Dance!"

"Woo! I'm a floozy!" Robin cheered, flailing about. She had no idea at this moment what a floozy was. Zoro just blushed.

"Chotto matte! I can't dance to that!"

"C'mon! Sing with me!" He started swishing about towards him, dancing skillfully.

"NO! I see why Franky said this was embarrassing as a human being. I—I'll pick the next song, and do it then!"

"You're not getting out of it that easy," Sanji sighed, and pulled the guitar strap over his head, laying it down against the rails. Interpol peeked around the corner just in time to watch Sanji slip one of his hands into Zoro's, and put the other on his waist. Luffy wasn't sure why, but this reminded him of something he couldn't put his finger on, and it made him turn a deep and ghastly shade of red. Nami felt the same way about it, and couldn't stand looking at it—nor looking away.

Everyone else had gotten bored and wandered off, except those four and Robin. When they actually started to dance together, Interpol burst into the loudest laugh imaginable—it was too much, with Zoro in a dress like that, and Sanji in his underwear—and that laugh was too much, because everyone heard it, and froze. Robin pushed the button on the stereo and listened, eyes wide. And then she caught sight of that face, peering around at them from the far side of the ship, hands clamped to his mouth.

"YOU!" The face disappeared, but that didn't stop her from running after. "MATTE!" She got to the other side of the wall just in time to watch Interpol zip around another corner, filled with incredible panic. The winged bear he'd had carry him here had already flown back, and wouldn't pick him up again for another hour—those had been the orders. There was no escape.

He darted into a door he knew from his last visit belonged to a bathroom, and locked it. But, no, he couldn't just wait in here until the bear showed up—he wouldn't see what was going on with them all if he did that. So he would need a way to go about them without them realizing he was the intruder they had just spotted. He would need a disguise. And all he had to use, at the moment, was toilet paper.

The sun set, the sky turning dark. It was the perfect time to try something like that. And from what he'd seen and heard of their idiot captain, it was the most . . . awesome . . . disguise of all.

A guy wrapped in strips of TP from head to toe stepped forward, leering at them with what he assumed was a scary face. Fingers clawed forward, clenching the air as he cackled. A single thought transversed through the minds of everyone present—everyone but one person. _There's no way anybody would be scared of th—_

"WAAAAHHH! A . . . A MUMMY!" Robin recoiled, face contorted in the stupidest look of terror anyone had ever seen.

"Oh?" The mummy looked confused. "Did I actually scare someone?"

And then there were stars in Robin's eyes. That wasn't a look of terror—it was awe. Bingo. It had worked. "SUGE! YOU'RE SO AWESOME! Which pharaoh were you?"

"Um . . . I was all of them."

"REALLY? Can I have your autograph?"

"Sure. Who should I make it out to?"

"Make it out to me! Oh yes, and I'm Robin!" Zoro, Nami, and Luffy's eyes squinted into narrow slits.

The wannabe mummy tore a strip of toilet paper from his forearm, and produced a pen. Scribbles started lining up across its surface, and then he handed it to Robin. Nami couldn't help but look over her shoulder. _To Robin, Love King Tut, Ramses #1—24, Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, Dwight Eisenhower, Richard Nixon, and Bob Hope. _

"Ahhh! He was even Bob Hope!"

"You're an idiot." She smacked her upside the head. Franky was convulsing in stifled snickers.

"Thanks for appreciating all that we do," the mummy said, and pointed his finger at her like a gun, then made a clicking sound in the side of a crooked smirk. "I'm so happy! I've never met a fan before! Wah! The world is spinning! It's making me dizzy with excitement! Round and round it goes!" Actually, he had just started twirling about on the toes of one foot, his other leg stuck out behind him. Zoro facepalmed.

"No, you're just spinning around!" He stopped.

"Oh. . . . Wait, really? WEHEHEHEHE! When I spin, the world spins with me!"

"How did you even reach that conclusion?"

"WHOA! You're so powerful! Do it again!" They were . . . both so stupid. He started up again, his spins augmented with hummed strains of the Blue Danube. And then a flying bit of TP swooped past Luffy, and he thought, no, I mustn't. That's just too mean. So he did.

His fist closed around the strip and pulled it, yanking fistfuls of toilet paper from the intruder's body, unraveling him as he spun. By the time he'd stopped, they were left staring at a pale-haired guy with no clothes. Interpol looked down.

"AH!"

"AH!" Robin shouted, her finger pointing at him in accusation. "YOU'RE NOT A MUMMY AT ALL!"

"Don't look at me! Oh, the shame!" And then he ran away, his white pasty ass retreating into the darkness. Robin slammed a fist down into an opened palm.

"This is unforgivable! We were tricked!"

"Don't say 'we,'" Zoro sighed, and shook his head.

". . . Wait," Robin realized. "Was that the guy from earlier?" This time, they all facepalmed.

"_Of course," _Luffy muttered around his cigarette. "The question is, what the hell is doing on our ship?"

"That and, 'Why is he such a pervert?'" Zoro muttered, beet red. "I mean, walking around in nothing but TP on someone else's ship? Seriously?" But his offended rant got cut off, as a dozen search lights thrashed across the water to land in bright patches, rippling across the Thousand Sunny's flat surfaces, curves, and nooks. It reflected off the porthole windows, and streamed past the dark spot in the tangerines where Interpol had been hiding, slipping over his toes.

The loud wail of a megaphone being turned on, and a gruff voice booming through it. "THIS IS SMOKER. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP."


End file.
